Locker Room Strip
by trace93
Summary: Tim's post-game ritual takes an intriguing twist.


**Locker Room Strip**

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.

Tim had the game of his life that night. It didn't happen until the fourth quarter, when they were trailing. He'd been unfocused and his timing had been off til then, but then everything clicked, and he became a machine – blocking, catching and running, executing and scoring. Helping the team win.

Coach gave Tim the game ball for the first time. His teammates hoisted him on their shoulders and carried him off the field. Everyone had showered and dressed to hurry off to the post-game party. Everyone but Tim.

The game had its price. He'd gotten hit dozens of times, and his shoulder was acting up again, the one that had been dislocated before. And he had a lame ankle.

He wandered back out onto the field for a moment, wanting to soak it in once more. The equipment manager was checking to make sure everything was stowed. "Hey, Riggs. Great game. I'm about to leave. Can you make sure the door locks behind you when you go?"

Tim had done it many times before, when he hadn't just slept there. "Yeah, man. Thanks," Tim said with a wave. He went back slowly into the locker room, his head hanging. He was riding high, yet he felt so alone.

Billy had come to the game, but left right afterward. Tyra too.

Lyla had been there cheering with the squad. He glanced at her when he could during the game, and she at him with a tight smile. Tim still had strong feelings for her. Okay, loved her. Whatever, didn't matter. Things were in limbo after Jason had outed them.

And now that Jason was a coach, Tim didn't know how to act around him, giving them another point of contention.

Self-reliance. He was used to it, and had actually learned to like it. In his daily life, and emotionally too. But tonight, it hurt to be alone when he had so much to share.

-/-/-/

He loved the ritual of getting dressed for the game. He loved the way his gear fit perfectly, how every piece had a purpose, and how he felt superhuman in it. His suit of armor.

Taking it off was another story. The aches, the sweat, the grime. But mainly the knowledge that the best part of his life was over for at least another week, sometimes more. Worst case ­– final game of the season.

No more procrastinating. Time to undress.

He laid his gloves next to his helmet on the bench.

He pulled his mud-stained 33 jersey over his head, wincing once.

Next off – his mutli-part pads, wincing twice, groaning.

Off came his belt.

Now a tedious part – unwrapping the tape that went around his ankles and shoes. It made a loud ripping noise and seemed to go on for miles. And his legs had usually tightened up after heavy duty use during the game, before a hot shower.

Undoing the tight double knots on his cleats, not as easy as it seemed as his fingers weren't working 100.

Socks off. Tape around one lame ankle, off, add to the big ball of tape on the floor.

Armbands off.

Undershirt off. Wince again.

Pants, off. Shorts, off.

Naked, finally.

He showered leisurely, got in the whirlpool in the trainer's room, and lay there for 15 minutes, rehashing the game in his mind, eyes closed. Suddenly the jets shut off.

"You're getting kind of pruny, Tim," he heard Lyla say, at first thinking he was imagining it.

"Garrity…? What…"

"I was at the party looking for you, and drove by and saw your truck still out back. Figured you were in here."

"Yeah, I'm kinda beat up and I'm trying to do a little preventive maintenance so I don't suffer so bad tomorrow. Gettin' old, Garrity."

He heaved himself up and out of the tub, and stood there dripping for a moment before drying off and wrapping a towel around his waist. Lyla took the opportunity to admire the hard-won body that he made no effort to hide.

"That was an amazing game, Tim. Wouldn't have happened without you," she said, her dark eyes lustrous, Panther paw painted on her cheek.

"Yeah, when I finally got my ass in gear, things happened," he laughed.

"You can't carry the whole team yourself, Tim."

"Well… they count on me. Hey, would you mind working on my shoulder a little? It's barking."

She nodded as he led her to the trainer's table. He lay face down on a towel, loosening the damp towel around his waist and draping it over his butt.

She inhaled sharply. "You have bruises all over the place. I never saw these on Jason…" she trailed off. She'd seen Tim in the buff lots, but never right after a game.

Tim grunted, reminded of their weird situation. "Yeah, part of the business of being a glamorous fullback. Six had a very protective line. Ignore the bruises... Just knead my shoulder, get into the joint…"

She timidly pressed on his flesh. "This okay?"

"Harder, Garrity. Don't worry, you won't hurt me, even if I sound like you are," he laughed.

She dug deeper, her small fingers working hard, her fingernails digging in a little. Tim moaned now and then when she made headway. "Wish my hands were stronger," she said, stopping to rest.

"Well maybe this will work," she whispered.

He felt her warm lips on his shoulder, caressing where she'd massaged. He smiled to himself. _I didn't ask for this, but I ain't gonna stop her_.

She worked down his back, smoothing and kissing it every few inches, spreading her hands across the broad expanse of subtle curves and muscles. She paid special attention to the bruises, tickling him by trying to be gentle.

She slid the towel down his butt, placing a kiss on his tailbone. He rolled onto his side to accommodate his growing cock. He propped his weight on his elbow, looking at her with his smoldering, voracious gaze.

"Move over," she said, laying next to him and resting her head on the pillow of his big bicep.

She kissed him softly, and then with increasing urgency, nibbling his lower lip. "I've missed you." She threw one leg over him and pulled his pelvis to hers.

"'Bout time you got outta that cheerleading stuff," he said, between ragged breaths.

He unzipped her blue and white sleeveless dress, pulling it off.

She kicked off her sneakers, tugged her socks off.

Sports bra, off, with some difficulty. Giggles.

Briefs and panties, off.

"Almost there," he whispered, pulling off the blue and yellow ribbons that held her braids together. He shook them out, fanning her silky hair around her shoulders.

Naked, finally, except for the Panther paw on her cheek.

For the first time in a long time, he shared his victory night with someone he loved. He could get used to this.


End file.
